CW: Mild drug joke in Odicci's POV. Enjoy the chapter!
Nathaniel Lewis, 18
D4M
Cornucopia
7 July 329 AEDD
"Life is much more successfully looked at from a single window."
Warm sunlight bloomed across the arena, the first rays of a new day brightening the tributes' sleeping forms. They were exhausted from exploring their new surroundings, or killing their competitors in the case of the Careers, but Nathaniel was the most exhausted because he had taken night watch for the Pack. It was an apology for foolishly getting himself injured in the first two minutes of the Games, but it was also best for preserving the overall strength of the alliance. Nathaniel was in no shape for fighting, so if someone had to be dead weight the next day as they slept to recover from their overnight vigil, it might as well be him. He wasn't going to be doing much anyway.
It was also smart because the Careers did not trust one another. Nathaniel was neutral enough to take watch on his own, but if he wanted someone else to do it, they'd need a partner from the opposite faction to stay up and make sure they didn't dispose of anyone while they slept. Still, he wasn't going to have another turn for a while. They'd made a schedule the previous afternoon. Nathaniel tried to imagine Tybalt protecting him while he slept and was definitely sure that he'd slit his throat open unless Odicci was there to stop him. The third day would involve Orpheus and Haylia, and then it would be Nikita's turn. Haylia would be doubling up with him. Nathaniel wasn't suspicious of her. When Haylia was lying, it was laughably easy to pick up on, which they'd learned when she was trying to choke down tinned green beans in brine for dinner. He'd asked her why she would do it two nights in a row. She replied that she'd rather screw up her sleep schedule two days in a row than have to recover from an all-nighter twice in a week.
Nathaniel believed her. He didn't know if that was the right decision, but he felt like Haylia was an honorable person. Outside of Odicci, she'd been the most receptive to his leadership. He respected her attitude. They were adults with a job to do, and there was no use fretting about far-fetched possibilities. Everyone would be trying to kill everyone else in the end, but Nathaniel felt that he had bigger fish to fry, as it happened. There were tributes he was more concerned with. After hearing the anthem play while the fallen tributes appeared in the sky, he knew who had died. Nascha, of course, both Fives, the Seven girl, the Eight girl, and both Elevens. Eight was a smaller Bloodbath. The previous year's Careers had claimed thirteen lives in the opening moments, and Nathaniel was a little disappointed in his one measly kill.
He was more concerned about the tributes who had not died. Tybalt and Nikita both claimed to have inflicted mortal injuries on outliers, but neither girl had died, and no cannons had sounded since the Bloodbath batch. Nathaniel hoped this was because they were bleeding out in some desolate corner of the arena, and not because they were recovering. The Capitol had powerful medication that could drastically accelerate the healing process. Nathaniel had seen it in action on television in previous years. It could rescue tributes from the precipice of death. It was extremely expensive, but plenty of people in the audience had deep enough pockets to afford a miracle cure for their favorite tributes. Aspen had scored well for a girl from Twelve and probably had some fans. The Six girl was average enough, but surviving a Career attack had persuaded sponsors to shell out the big bucks in the past. It was plausible that as he considered the situation, one of them was getting back on their feet. That would be extremely bad. The Six girl had lost two of her allies, but she still had her district partner around somewhere, and Haylia had told the rest of the Pack just how much loot he'd snagged from the Cornucopia. The Twelve girl had teamed up with the Eight boy. Nathaniel knew nothing about him.
A pair of outliers couldn't do much to the Careers at this stage in the Games, but wait a few days when the titans start dropping and Nathaniel might be in trouble. Everything Nathaniel had heard about Aspen suggested that she was a caustic personality who savored her little acts of revenge against Nikita. If she healed from his attack, she would come back around. Despite being a Career, Nikita was permanently on the defense when he fought with Aspen. She spat barbed remarks at him every chance she got, and Nathaniel had a sinking feeling that if Aspen returned to seek a more material vengeance, she would know just how to paralyze Nikita mid-battle.
That was a horrible thought. Nathaniel remembered something Nikita said to him once in the Training Center after Aspen had tossed some vitriol his way while she slunk towards the daggers. "She'll do it to you too," Nikita had promised. "She knows exactly what to say to tear you down."
"I can handle it. Everyone at the Academy did that with me too. It won't be anything I haven't heard before."
"I warned you."
Nathaniel remembered how Aspen had commented on Nikita's weak ankle, his flighty mind. It had been enough to convince Nathaniel to hold the vote, even if he knew she was being ridiculous. Her words had invaded his subconscious and he suddenly felt a stab of fear. What if she pulled that same maneuver with him? What if she preyed on his dreads and told his allies that all of his decisions were improvised, that he wasn't confident in his status as leader? What would they do if they knew he was terrified of failure because he'd never had so much as a narrow brush with it before the voting debacle? What would happen?
What would Nathaniel do? There wouldn't be friendly mentors around to smooth things over if it happened again.
He had some work ahead of him.
Beemo Hudson, 13
D3M
Due West of the Cornucopia
7 July 329 AEDD
"All I kept thinking about, over and over, was 'You can't live forever; you can't live forever.'"
Beemo wasn't ready for the Games. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do. At least, until he got his bearings in the arena. Twyla really wanted to move away from the Cornucopia, but Beemo was reluctant to do any real exploration until he was armed with some poison. Twyla and Tom didn't object too heavily to this. They wanted Beemo to get whatever he needed to maximize the use of the poison distillation kit Twyla had grabbed from the Cornucopia. The issue was that he needed poisonous plants, and the desert did not really have plants. Tom was the one to suggest that maybe there would be more vegetation in other parts of the arena. "The outliers last year camped out near the Cornucopia to steal from the Careers," he said. "The Gamemakers don't want it to be hospitable here." Beemo thought that was a fair point, so the alliance packed up and moved outwards, where the landscape began to gradually transform. The dunes faded into a flatter sort of desert with less sand and more rocks, and scrub brush began to appear.
Beemo's endurance wasn't the best. His asthma made it difficult to move quickly, and the heat was intense for anyone, let alone a tribute from the cooler climate of District Three. Still, he understood the importance of covering ground and hurried to keep up with his allies. Tom turned out to be extremely physically fit, happily carrying the bulk of the supplies at the front while the Threes lagged behind like errant ducklings. He explained that he was an avid hiker and outdoorsman back in District Seven and occasionally backpacked into the woods for some alone time. Beemo had to admit that he was a little jealous. District Three was so urban that Beemo rarely had the opportunity to see any morsels of nature, whereas Tom could take off work and go on a forest vacation anytime he felt like it.
Then Beemo started noticing the leaves. They protruded from the lingering dunes, and he drifted over to have a look. They were flat and broad, not exactly toxic-looking, but he pawed away at the sand anyway. Yes, it was squashed from its time under the sand, but it was certainly a good sign. From then on, he and his allies checked over every plant they saw until Twyla found a layer of small, bell-shaped pink flowers. "Guys, c'mere. This is poisonous, right?"
"Looks like it. I know I saw the flashcard in the Training Center," said Tom.
"Robinia neomexicana," Beemo supplied. "Its seeds are lethal when ingested. Thank you so much!" He sighed in relief as he popped open his toolbox. He harvested the seed pods with a small scalpel and sharp forceps, then carefully deposited them inside the mortar. "Can we camp here?" he asked.
"I think that would be smart. The sooner we get some poison on those darts, the safer we all are."
"Okay. Um, we're going to need a fire." Tom made a tiny moan.
"Oh, god. It's already sweltering."
"I know, but I want to split the pods open. It's like popcorn. I mean I can do it with the pods still intact and just grind them up, but the final result won't be as potent."
"We should build the fire," Tom agreed. "I'm just not happy about it." Twyla took out a sleeve of matches from the backpack and stooped to examine some dry scrub brush. Tom passed her a jackknife and she started sawing at the stalks. Beemo stacked the cut stalks in a box formation, then flicked a match against the rough exterior of the sleeve. It ignited and he carefully lowered it to the stalks, which caught fire and rapidly began to curl up and turn into crispy ash. Twyla dropped a lump of slow-burning fuel from the poison distillation kit into the fire while Beemo set up the criss-cross grate over top of the flame, then slid the small metal pan into position. He tipped the seed pods into the pan. It took a few minutes for them to heat up and begin making alarming cracking noises. Beemo jumped a little, but logically, there was no reason to be afraid. Slowly, the pods began to peel apart, splitting piece by piece, until the small brown seeds had totally separated from the blackening husks. Then Beemo carefully picked up each seed with the forceps and transferred them back to the mortar and pestle. He held his breath while he ground them into a fine powder, making doubly sure not to inhale any of the toxic molecules.
Beemo felt like a young god. He knew just how powerful even a miniscule dose of this deadly dust could be, and there was a striking feeling accompanying the brewing process that made Beemo realize just how easily he could take out his competitors. He had been lamenting the Gamemakers' choice of arena until he realized exactly what flora they had hidden in plain sight. They had equipped an underdog alliance with one of the most powerful substances in all of Panem. Eating one seed could kill someone almost instantly. Concentrated and packaged in a dart, there was a large cavity Beemo could fill with poison, much like the body of a syringe. It would slowly seep into the bloodstream through the hollow tip of the dart, and it would wallop any Career who got within range of Beemo's blowgun.
It frightened him how quickly he had considered the violent potential of his weapon. He wasn't a cruel person, but if he had to kill, it was convenient that he had found such a strong poison so early in the Games. It wasn't a perfect solution and it might not do anything if a Career got within close enough range, but if one was far enough out, Beemo could knock them out before they could reach him, no matter how good of a runner they were. He carefully motioned for the canteen and used the cap to add a small amount of water to the mortar and pestle, then set about loading it into the darts with a cartridge suction mechanism.
"We should move on if you're done," said Twyla.
"Yeah." Beemo kicked some sand over the fire. "So what happens now?"
Danny Maddox, 18
D6M
South-Southeast of the Cornucopia
7 July 329 AEDD
"There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired."
Vica was still alive, and that made Danny upset. It was hard to meander around the arena with the knowledge that his district partner was spasming with pain and totally immobile, but not yet dead. He wished she could be safe, or at least glean a little release and not have to suffer anymore. But he couldn't go back right into the Careers' nest to comfort an ally who was already doomed, no matter how much he wanted to. His backpack had turned out to contain all manner of useful items, including lots of food and water. He also had a first aid kit, a sleeping bag, and some survival tools, but without Jeremiah to lead him, he was at a complete loss as to the best course of action.
He hated this liminal space, when he didn't know where to go next. He had experienced it when he first left the orphanage as a child and had avoided it like the plague ever since, afraid of where he might be swept without someone to hold him in place. He wished he could be confident enough to dictate his own life, or maybe even lead others, but that just wasn't in the cards for him. Danny knew that he was destined to be a lackey, and with nobody to serve, he didn't have a clear purpose anymore.
He'd go crazy without another person nearby. He'd barely slept at all during the first night, despite the relaxing temperature of his sleeping bag. What if someone ambushed him in the dark? Being alone was making him paranoid and afraid, but he couldn't afford to shut down. He needed to do something.
Fleet warned him this was going to happen. Fleet had tried to help him plan for this eventuality, and Danny hadn't really listened. He procrastinated out of fear and now it was too late for his mentor to be of any use.
But maybe someone else could still help. A thought occurred to him. When the prep team was getting him ready for the Tribute Parade, the hairstylist, Persephone, had been discussing strategies with him as they chatted about his background in District Six. He had told her the story of how he got Cassidy Veyron's autograph, speaking of which, he pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket. She had scrawled her signature over a newspaper article headlining her misdeeds, and when asked how he tracked down such a pillar of the criminal underworld, Danny said he'd just found her.
"Maybe that's how you're supposed to win the Games."
Maybe that's how he was supposed to win the Games.
He only had to find the right person and then everything would click into place. But who would be a good pick? He didn't care who he found, just that they would be willing to have some sort of alliance. It was a lot to hope for, but Danny was smarter than he usually thought of himself as. He mentally laid out all the information he had about the arena: For every Games in recent memory, the Cornucopia had been at the very center. When he had climbed the tall dune to survey the swath of desert, there was green in the distance, swooping around an elliptical edge in a curve. He presumed this to be a different segment of the arena. Most tributes would fan out from the Cornucopia to put distance between themselves and the Careers, and they probably wouldn't take the same route as him. It was just unlikely based on the number of possible paths to take.
He wanted to intersect with another tribute's path, so he needed to angle inward. Green meant foliage, and foliage meant water, so the green crescent seemed like a good destination. Statistically, another tribute would probably be traveling away from the Cornucopia towards the eastern half of the arena. If that was the case, which felt like a safe assumption to make, Danny would be most likely to encounter them if he traveled at a direct northeast diagonal.
He was scared of taking this risk. If he crossed ways with a hostile tribute who was proficient with a long-range weapon, the lack of cover and concealment would place Danny in grave danger. He had no desire to start a fight, especially this early in the Games, but as far as he figured, there were a few outside factors working in his favor. First of all, the Bloodbath had only occurred yesterday. There were lots of deaths to satisfy the audience. Second, the Gamemakers liked active tributes more than passive tributes. As much as hiding out would have felt like a more secure choice, Danny knew that giving the Gamemakers something interesting to watch would make them more reluctant to target him with some kind of arena-based attack. Then there was the matter of the camouflage—if he did spot a dangerous enemy, laying down flat on the ground would render him totally invisible. The camouflage did make it more difficult to identify other tributes, but Danny had one last element on his side: the pair of binoculars in his backpack. He could place the tribute in question before deciding whether or not to approach them, and that was a valuable advantage.
Danny wasn't about to start the Games playing defense.
Odicci Harbore, 18
D4F
Cornucopia
7 July 329 AEDD
"That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool."
Odicci languished atop the Cornucopia. The golden metal was as scorching as beach sand, thrumming pleasantly against her back as she looked up at the clear blue sky. She wasn't too bothered by the bite mark the Seven girl had left on her arm. The Pack had plenty of soap and antiseptic, so it wasn't in danger of getting infected. It was painful with the torn flap of flesh skimming against the edge of the bandage and catching every so often, but Odicci wasn't about to waste resources on dulling it. If she couldn't push through a mild injury without chemical assistance, she didn't deserve to be here. She earned two kills, including the first of the Games, and she logically had no reason to be so distracted.
But she knew everything now, and the Shoals loomed in the back of her mind, eclipsing all intelligent thought. Allium Harbore had always been a loyalist. This made no sense. Kaylee, her mentor, was the niece of Miss Albacore, who was a loyalist. But the Shoals were always about rebellion. The Shoals were the launching point for rebel watercraft, like for example, her mother's seafood ships. That melody had been a message, and Kaylee had taught Odicci the words to the ballad late last night. She also told Odicci to do something she really didn't want to do. It would upset Nathaniel, and that was more of a gamble than she was ready to take. With the Pack leader in such a foul mood already, it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. The Nikita vote had turned out fine, but Odicci had learned a valuable lesson from it.
Nathaniel was a nice boy, but he had a short temper and a penchant for making impulsive decisions. He didn't think about the implications of that vote because he was focused on his own logic. It wouldn't go down well if Odicci started sneaking around behind his back, no matter who had told her to do it. Somehow, Odicci had to make someone trust her, because she was the only one Nikolai Fassnacht could trust anymore. Kaylee had told her of her aunt's true purposes, and Odicci realized that she had been picked for a lot of reasons she hadn't even considered when she and Nathaniel were having that conversation at the post-selection party.
Odicci had a lot to think about. Like how she was the only thing standing between a Capitol double agent dying to sadistic insurgents, or how these orders had come straight from Nikolai Fassnacht. Or how loyalists and rebels might be the same people sometimes. Odicci had never felt so lost. The set of principles that had smoothed the path of her childhood didn't make sense anymore, but Allium had also told her to set aside her morals for the Games. That was manageable, but she couldn't go into her mission without a plan. She wished to go back. She didn't want to be a tribute. She didn't want to know about this side of the country or her mother. She didn't want to kill anyone, and she didn't want to die. If she was alone, she would probably be panicking. But she could not panic with people nearby. Careers did not accept panic.
There was a clang. She jumped a little, then realized it was just Tybalt swinging himself up onto the Cornucopia with one hand. In the other, he balanced an apple and a metal bottle of water, which had been responsible for the noise as it thwacked the golden horn.
"Hi," said Odicci. She turned her head to the left as she looked up at him.
"You forgot your hat." Tybalt withdrew a folded boonie hat from his back pocket. "Figured you'd want it."
"I'm fine."
"A thank you would be nice." He set the hat down on top of her face.
"Yeah, thanks lots."
"You're welcome. And you're also welcome for breakfast." He proffered the apple.
"What inspired you to do this? I'm suspicious."
"I'm a nice guy, Odicci. I know you don't believe it, but I really do care about this alliance."
"That's my water bottle. Did you go through my backpack?" She snatched it from him. He ignored the question.
"Kidney stones suck. Hydrate or diedrate."
"What's up with you today?"
"Oh, I noticed you were sort of freaking out and figured it was a good time to harass you about self-care. Sunburn sucks, by the way." He poked the hat.
"We're in a death competition and you're worried about kidney stones."
"Wanna do drugs?"
"Excuse me?"
"You know, chemicals that protect your body from the misery of the world?"
"Tybalt. Do you know what drugs are."
"Hear me out. This is called zinc oxide and it prevents skin cancer. You smear it all over your face like this." Something cold touched Odicci's cheek and she smacked his hand away.
"That's sunscreen, Ty."
"You're laughing. That's a good sign." Tybalt scooted the apple towards her insistently. "Tell me what's going on."
"Why should I?" She took a bite.
"Because I'm really pretty."
"That's not a great reason." Tybalt leaned in so close that his nose brushed her trident stud earrings. He didn't stray from his friendly demeanor, but there was definitely menace in the whisper.
"Are you sure? Because I caught you humming something interesting a few days ago, and when I repeated it for Antonius, he told me all about it. Rebels, Odicci, really?"
She froze.
Dawn and the tide rolls in on the poor young men
Battered and dying on the rocks of the shore
Salt scrapes their flesh and gnaws at their throats
And the fear tears air from their lungs.
Risen from the ash and soaked to the bone they murmur to the sky and the sea be-low
Ida be safe and Ida be calm
Back in my old farm home.
Children at the hearth stirring bran and milk
Skimmed by the Capitol of cream.
Oh how I long for my old farm home
O'er the mountains east
Where the bullfrogs groan
Oh how I long for my fam-il-y and the scant grain yields
But now my wife's dead on the fresh tilled fields
Blood on her apron, hand on her belly and the baby within
Our Ida all alone at the mar-ket-stall
To collect the bread
And she still stands tall while the bullets patter down like drops of rain
And her mother and her sister are meeting their graves
And her father sails
And she still won't wail
But takes out her tess-er-ae.
And so do sing the rebellion boys
Battled the bombs just to drown by the buoys
Left their lovers to be widowed
In a world so cruel
But they take their turn
By the rebel rules
Get the shipments of food
Get the shipments of guns
All loyal men must go their once.
But the storm struck bad
And the rain flew hard
And the rocks obscured
By the damnèd fog
The ship collides
On the mountain face
And as life subsides
Sing the poor young men
As they bleed out slow
With their voices rasping and heads bowed low
They sing to the girls they left all alone
Who will sit in school while the war still drones
Who will bury their mas in the salted earth
And they sing to their brothers who made it back
And beg them to keep their oaths.
Ida be safe and Ida be calm
Ida be safe and Ida be calm
Ida be safe while you're all alone
O'er the mountains east
Where the bullfrogs groan
Joe and 'em, help her when I'm just bones
Joe and 'em, raise my little girl grown
Deep in the orchards, a house of stone
Bricks and clay
All her own
Ida be safe and Ida be calm
I leave you my old farm home.
Hey y'all,
It's me! I'm back with a cute little chapter. I hope you're having fun reading about our horrible little wretches (affectionate!) and watching them experience things. There will be more things to experience soon, but I also want to draw your attention to the Prudence and Gumption sequel! It's a selective SYOT with subs due in two months, during which time I will be doing lots of fun Reprisal things. We have ~20 chapters left in Reprisal, which means that I'll be doing the 3 updates per week thing. So yayyy! I am very excited to dig into the Games here. Also, if you were wondering, the little quote banners above the POVS are pulled from The Great Gatsby. This cycle of chapters and POVs will follow that format with other classic lit quotes. See you tomorrow!
—LC :)